


Consequences

by duchess325



Series: The Baker Street Chronicles [7]
Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: Big Brother Mycroft, Episode Related, Episode: s03e03 His Last Vow, Gen, Mycroft Being a Good Brother, Mycroft Feels, Mycroft IS the British Government, Protective Mycroft, Sherlock Holmes & John Watson Friendship, Sherlock in Exile
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-05-08
Updated: 2017-05-08
Packaged: 2018-10-29 16:01:01
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,948
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10857321
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/duchess325/pseuds/duchess325
Summary: Sherlock has killed Charles Magnussen, now he must face the consequences. Will big brother Mycroft be able to save him?





	Consequences

**Author's Note:**

> This is just a short piece to bridge the gap between the scene of Sherlock shooting Magnussen and Sherlock and John bidding farewell on the tarmac. Words in bold are from the episode, His Last Vow and are the work of Steven Moffat and Mark Gatiss.

 

              John waited in a small room containing only a metal table, bolted to the floor, and two plastic chairs. There was one small window, high on the wall to his left, covered with iron bars. To his right was the door with a large window of reinforced glass. John sat patiently and waited for Sherlock.

              In a few minutes, he could hear the distant sounds of doors being unlocked, opened, closed, and locked again. The sounds grew closer and then there were heavy footsteps coming down the corridor outside. Soon the figures of Sherlock and two armed guards filled the window of the door. There was another loud click as the electronic lock slid open. Once inside the doorway, Sherlock turned to face the guards and held his shackled hands forward to be freed. With the cuffs removed, Sherlock stood unmoving until the guard had stepped out of the room and the door closed with a loud thud and a click of the lock.

              John took a long look at his friend. As he was considered a remanded prisoner, he was allowed his own clothing, in this case a white dress shirt, black trousers, and black shoes. He looked tired as he drew the chair opposite John and sat down with his forearms on the table and his head bowed.    

              “Sherlock,” John began, “what the hell were you thinking? You shot Magnussen in front of me, Mycroft, and what looked like the whole bloody MI5.” Leaning in he continued in a quieter voice, “You murdered him, Sherlock. You are not a murderer. What were you thinking?”

              “How is Mary?” Sherlock asked.

              John leaned back in his chair, exasperated because his friend has just avoided his question. “Yeah, she’s okay,” he answered.

              Sherlock nodded his head. “Then it was worth it.”

              “WHAT DO YOU MEAN, ‘IT WAS WORTH IT’?” John was out of his chair and in Sherlock’s face. Sherlock glanced to the door.

              “Could you hold it down, please?” he asked, looking sternly at his friend. John glanced at the guards outside the door and eased slowly back into his chair. “What I mean,” Sherlock continued quietly, “is that it had to be done; Magnussen had to be stopped. Mary would have been looking over her shoulder for the rest of her life if I didn’t stop him. It was no less that you have done for me. I knew you for one day when you killed that taxi driver to save my life.”

              “That was different! You were going to take that pill, and he was going to kill you, just like he had killed the four people before you,” John replied angrily.

              “Mary may not have been in immediate danger, but I think it is safe to assume from what he told us that he had information about her past that he could use against her. There were people who would hurt her if they got that information. Luckily for us, that information did not exist anywhere but in Magnussen’s mind palace. Take out Magnussen, free Mary. It was an easy choice, really.”

              John looked down and shook his head. “Sherlock, that wasn’t the solution,” he said.

              “But that’s where you are wrong, John. There was no other solution, none that would guarantee Mary’s safety, your safety, your child’s safety.”

              John sighed. There was no use arguing with Sherlock Holmes. “So, what happens now?” he asked him. “Does big brother get you out of this?”

              “No,” Sherlock said softly, without looking at John.

              “I’m sorry, what do you mean? Mycroft IS the British government, as you are quick to point out. He can make this go away, can’t he?” John searched Sherlock’s face for the answer he wanted.

              “No, not this time,” Sherlock muttered. “This is quite serious. I’ll have to go through a trial. I’ll most likely be imprisoned for the rest of my life. Big brother cannot save me this time, even if he is the British government.”

              “Good, god, Sherlock. I don’t know what to say.”

              “Say that you forgive me. Say that what I did was not wrong. Say that you and Mary will be okay.”

              “Of course, I forgive you,” John said, his voice breaking, “and Mary and I will be okay, but I can’t tell you that what you did was not wrong. It has landed you here and everything is wrong about that. I’m going to Mycroft. There must be something that he can do. He thinks he is the clever one, well now is the time for him to prove it.”

              “Don’t bother, John. It will do no good.”

              “I have to try,” John told him.

              Just then, one of the guards knocked on the window to let Sherlock know that his time was up.

              “In the meantime, Sherlock, if there is anything that you need, just let me know. If there is anything that I can do…”

              “Thank you, John.”

 

              John sat in a leather arm chair at the Diogenes Club waiting for Mycroft. As he looked around the richly appointed room, with its wood paneling and distinguished members—true gentlemen of the establishment—he was reassured that someone such as Mycroft, someone held in such high regard and in such a position of power, must be able to get Sherlock out of the situation in which he currently found himself.

              Mycroft appeared moments later and took the chair across from John. He looked solemn and tired. There were lines of worry etched on his face. He had loss sleep over his little brother.

              “Dr. Watson, I assume you are here regarding the events which recently transpired with you, Sherlock, and Charles Magnussen. Am I correct in my assumption?”

              “You know bloody well it is,” John answered, a tinge of anger in his voice. How could Mycroft sit there so calmly and speak of this as if Sherlock and Magnussen had just had a tiff over afternoon tea? Reigning in his anger and speaking calmly, John continued. “Mycroft, Sherlock seems to think that there is nothing you can do for him, that you cannot make this go away. He also seems to think that he will go to prison for this.”

              “I’m afraid my brother is correct on these points.”

              John could feel his anger rising again. “You are the bloody government, Mycroft!” The men around the room looked up from their newspapers at John. Lowering his voice again, John said, “Mycroft, you and I both know what kind of man Charles Magnussen was. We know how manipulative he was, and according to your brother, the government was under his thumb. Hell, Sherlock wouldn’t have even gotten involved with him if Lady Smallwood had not approached him to bail she and her husband out from under him. Now you go to whomever are the powers that be and you make them see this from that perspective and you get Sherlock out of this!”

              Mycroft looked at John for a long time and considered all that he had said. “Very well. There are a few people that I can speak with, but I cannot make any promises. They will be adamant on this, John. If he hadn’t shot him, if he hadn’t killed him…”

              “Just do whatever it is that you must do,” John told him with a cold stare. With that he rose from his chair and saw himself out.

 

***************************************************************************************************

              Mycroft, good to his word, did go to make an argument for his brother’s case, though he knew that the only alternative that would appease everyone would most likely not end any better for Sherlock.

              **Looking out the window of the meeting room that gloomy morning, Mycroft’s back was to the men and Lady Smallwood, seated at the to his left. Sir Edwin stood to his right.**

**“** **As my colleague is fond of remarking, this country sometimes needs a blunt instrument. Equally, it sometimes needs a dagger – a scalpel wielded with precision and without remorse,” Mycroft said, glancing to his left. “There will always come a time when we need Sherlock Holmes.”**

**“If this is some expression of familial sentiment ...” Sir Edwin began.**

**Mycroft sighed and rolled his eyes, “Don’t be absurd. I am not given to outbursts of brotherly compassion.” He paused a moment. “You know what happened to the _other_ one.” Turning back to the window, Mycroft continued, “In any event, there is no prison in which we could incarcerate Sherlock without causing a riot on a daily basis. The alternative, however,” he glanced at Lady Smallwood, “would require your approval.” **

              Mycroft had contacted Lady Smallwood prior to this meeting and made it perfectly clear that he was aware of Sherlock’s reasons for involvement with Charles Magnussen. The look he gave her now was meant to remind her of this fact.

              **“Hardly merciful, Mr. Holmes,” she said.**

**“Regrettably, Lady Smallwood, my brother is a murderer.”**

              “Yes. Well, then, I’ll send the orders over immediately. I’ll let you brief Sherlock on the mission.”

              “Thank you,” Mycroft said, looking out the window again. “We are both appreciative of your consideration.”

 

              That afternoon Sherlock was released from custody. A black sedan awaited him outside the prison.

              In Mycroft’s office, twenty minutes later, Sherlock sat with a faraway look in his eyes. He knew that his release would come at a great cost, but one he would be forced to accept.

              “Sherlock, I’m sure you recall the conversation that we had at our parent’s house Christmas day? I offered you a mission in Eastern Europe, one that I estimated would prove fatal in six months’ time.”

              “Yes, I remember. I suppose this time I will not be given the luxury of refusing the offer?”

              Mycroft looked down. “I’m afraid not.”

              Sherlock nodded. “Yes, well, you’re not always right, brother mine,” he said, trying to sound confident. “I may prove you wrong on this one. Do you have the file?”

              Mycroft slid a plain folder, bulging with papers, across his desk. “I certainly hope you do prove me wrong, Sherlock.”

              “We both know you are not a fan of sentiment, Mycroft. Do try to keep your attempts at it to a minimum.” Sherlock began leafing through the file. “Hmm. I can see why you are concerned. Is this up-to-date?”

              “Up-to-date as of this morning. This is big, Sherlock. Therefore, I didn’t want you to accept the job in the first place.”

              “But you are okay with sending me there now? This is supposed to be an alternative punishment?”

              “Sherlock, I only did this because John begged me to work something out for you. Prison would certainly mean a life sentence, a life wasted. This mission, though perilous, offers some slim hope that you might keep your life should you be successful in its completion.”

              “John went to you?”

              “Of course, he did. Does that surprise you?”

              “No, I suppose not. All right then, all the details, if you please.”

 

***************************************************************************************************

              Sherlock waited with Mycroft in the back of a government car. The brothers had been silent since the car had picked Sherlock up at Baker Street. Sherlock was thinking about John and Mary and what he would say to them on what may well be their last meeting. He thought about all of the adventures that he and John had together over the years. Some of them were truly absurd, some of them were dangerous, but all of them were fulfilling, even the unsolved ones, because John had been by his side and they had made a difference. How did you thank someone for that? What did you say to the man who had been your first friend and your best friend? Sherlock wasn’t even sure there were words for it.


End file.
